Stronger than I think

Posted on by estlh

You aspired to silence me;
To still my tongue
And prevent the telling of my tale.


For a while I acquiesced,
My passion gone,
Crushed by the demands of solitude.

I lay mute and diffident
And languished long
In lethargic denial of strength.


But do not think that you have won,
Have gained your end
And doused the fire that burns within me.


For though the embers grow dim
New breath brings life,
Reigniting flames that grow once more.


My voice will be heard again
Like none before
Bursting forth, my song will carry truth


To all who have hearts open to hear.

Mask

Posted on by estlh

Over the years my self-confidence has waxed and waned many a time.  I am glad to say that with the psssage of time this has happened with less frequency and mostly decreasing extremes. As time goes by I am increasingly comfortable in my own skin and less focused on what others (may or may not) think of me. After all, I am who God made me to be and I seek to embrace my identity as one of His children. I am still very much a fan of wearing makeup, but I am no longer reliant on it as a mask that allows me to face the world. This poem is one that was written at a time when my self-confidence was definitely waning.


I am not myself today
I have come out without my face.
In all the rush of this morning it was
Overlooked.
At first I was happy in my ignorance.
All it took was one look.
The fleeting question in the eye of a
casual acquaintance
Told me all was not as it usually is.
As the realisation dawned I was horrified,
and bowed my head in shame.
I had allowed someone in.
Allowed someone to see the real me
in all it’s painful colours.
And yet for that momentary flicker
I would have gone about my day
uncowed by self judgment or derisory expectations.
So my feet are getting all my attention today
as I withdraw
to ignore
this beautiful life in which I play
a reluctant part

Twisted

Posted on by estlh

I have a stash of old notebooks full of thoughts and scribblings. Some pages hold just odd lines or paragraphs, some poems I have maybe just started and never finished. And some have finished poems that I have long forgotten writing, or have never shown to anyone. I can lose hours reading back through these notebooks. Sometimes I am looking for inspiration – to take a line or a half finished poem and make something of it. But also I get lost in memories. Many of my poems, especially the older ones are really just me putting my feelings down on paper. As I read them I can remember what I was doing when I wrote them, or why I was feeling a certain way. I can also see how I have changed over the years – how as I have grown my perspective has changed and my confidence grown. This poem was written at a period when I was lacking in self confidence and was a bit of a social chameleon.

I twisted myself up

I turned round and round

and got all tangled.

And then I had to unwind myself,

the other way round and round.

And when I fell on my behind

it wasn’t funny;

it hurt.

Even though I deceived you

when I sat there and laughed.

But the tears that rolled

down my reddened cheeks

were not the result of a

burst of hysteria.

My eyes all screwed up,

the tears fell from

sudden pain.

To be young

Posted on by estlh

A few days ago I was having a conversation with someone about attitudes towards young people. Particularly the judgement thrown at them purely for acting like they are young and inexperienced and know less of the world. We have all been there at some point  – we all learn as we travel through life. Admittedly, some of us learn better than others, and sometimes we learn the wrong lessons altogether. But being young is not inherently a bad thing, and is something an individual has absolutely no control over!

This conversation brought to mind a poem I wrote back when I was a youth and was feeling judged for being young. It took a lot of rummaging through old notebooks but I eventually found it. Written when I was just the tender age of 16, here it is

The dying hate us
For we are still being born.
As we laugh and joke
They shake their heads in disapproval;
We are living too much for them.
They love the life they are dying,
why should we live more than they can?

They try to take our life from us
They complain to everyone
And grumble remarks as we pass.
We can do no right.
If we try to live a little bit for them,
To rejuvenate their dying breath,
They do not want to know.
Our life threatens them,
And they are untrusting and suspicious.

Their birth was so long ago,
It is forgotten,
And they cannot understand those
Who live like they’ll die tomorrow.

At the end of the universe

Posted on by estlh

When people read poetry they interpret it in their own way. I know from comments made to me about my own poetry that if I write a poem about one thing, some people will read it as being about something else entirely. And that is fine. Like any art form, people view it through the lens of their own personal life experience and preferences; it means different things to each of us. That is one of the reasons that I often write a little intro to my poems on this blog – to explain a bit about what I was thinking or feeling when I wrote the poem. But sometimes I don’t want to share that much of myself, and sometimes I just want to throw a poem out there and see how it is interpreted without any hints from me. Today’s poem is not straight forward for me to explain so I’m just going to throw it out there. Comments are encouraged!

Weep with me for the forgotten boy who lies quiet at the end of the universe.

Exiled.

Expelled with such force that he can never find his way home.

And all for a misunderstanding that can never now be explained.

So instead he lies in quiet contemplation

of the injustice of existence.

Wishing he had at least done something worthy of eternal exclusion.

 

At the end of the universe all is clear.

He can look back at what could have been –

The sheer potential afforded to those who so oft neglect it

chasing after instancy instead.

Oh to be once again in the opportune abundance of those at the centre.

 

The tears deluged once, but that stream has now run dry

Futile waters washed away no part of his pain.

His resigned heart long torn in two.

Naive and trusting he yearned at the start for a vindication that never came

Reliant on the honesty of another with naught to gain from confession

and much to lose.

 

So alone he waits.

All angered out

self pity over

indulgent hope abandoned

Surrounded by stardust and cosmic redundancy

 

Weep with me for the forgotten boy who dies quiet at the end of the universe.

 

Listen to the kids

Posted on by estlh

When my children were small I had a notebook in which I would write down some of the cute things that they said. For example, the time my son asked “why do you have beard on your arms daddy?” or the time my daughter rolled her eyes back as far as she could and exclaimed in disappointment “I just can’t see my eyebrows!”. But as well as being entertaining some of the things they said were actually quite insightful and poignant. When someone recently shared a video of kids being asked what it meant to be kind, some of the answers were really quite profound. It got me thinking about how as we get older we sometimes make things unnecessarily complicated when to children they seem straightforward. Children see the world through very different eyes to adults. As adults we have been shaped and damaged by life experiences and although these are unique for each of us, we all have something of cynicism, prejudice and pain in the lens through which we view things. Children often speak with a refreshing honesty too, saying things we would be too embarrassed to say, and seeing straight to the heart of a situation when we may have to peel back layers of assumption and expectation to reach the same point. Maybe listening to what children have to say sometimes, can help remind us of what is really important.

I listened to a child today
She spoke with a wisdom that belied her years
And gifted me her insight.

I listened to a child today
She spoke with the reasoning of innocence
And opened my jaded eyes

I listened to a child today
She spoke with a compassion that shamed me
But filled me with such bright hope

I listened to a child today
She spoke of such wondrous possibilities
And made me pause and ponder

I listened to a child today
She showed me everything I could become
And gave me desire to fly

Dismay

Posted on by estlh

You try so hard to bind my tongue
At times I can hardly breathe
Your hand is clasped so tightly over my mouth.
Confined in your embrace
Your warm breath on my cheek sends shivers down my spine

But do not mistake my inaction for fear
Do not take my hush for dread

I am ready to rage and wail at the top of my voice
I am ready to scream and flail and fight
I will not be silenced
I will not allow you to still my voice
Though you may grasp at me ever tighter
And squeeze the very life breath from my lungs
I will kick, I will punch
I will grapple with the bonds you have drawn about me.
My voice must be heard.
My voice will be heard.
Though my strength may at times fail me,
I will not concede
I will not kowtow to your pride and self importance

Enfolded in your arms I will squirm and claw
Emboldened by your arrogance I will strain and wrestle
And I will break free
I will find space
To draw breath enough to fill my lungs to bursting
And when I raise my head and forcefully release
No sound will come
For my silence is of my own making